A Month in the Life of Gray
by T h e s t e p H
Summary: Gray is an original character I use in various guilds. She's a Durem resident, she works for the local church, and she works with the Durem Guardsmen keeping watch from the North Tower.
1. An Introduction to Gray

My name is Gray.

For three years I have lived in the city of Durem, keeping and caring for the North Tower as part of my rent. I have many acquaintances here that I've met through my other job with the church. But more than that, more than business associates and clientele, I have made friends here.

Good friends.

I have bled here, I have cried here, I have loved here, and I have very nearly died here.

Durem is my home.

Originally I'm from off the local maps. My family lives in the south east, and that's were I was born and raised, too. I haven't been home since my second year of college, though, and I haven't called my parent's house my home since a couple years before then. I left home not because of some domestic drama, but rather out of a personal need to find a new space and make a new life for myself.

I've made that life here. I have my routines, my connections, and I even have my favourite restaurants. I've been able to do some small bit of good here, too. I work with the local church to help people bless and cleanse their homes, and I've even been called in to conduct an exorcism or two, and I do some personal counselling with people who have lost someone or have had an experience with the extraordinary that left a bad impression.

My full time job consists of sitting in the North Tower in Durem and keeping an eye on things. Basically, I make sure no one tries to climb over the wall rather than entering through one of the official entry points, watch for wild fires, or more snipers on the clock tower, etc. By the way, I hadn't started working at the tower when Johnny K. wound up with a bullet in his crazy butt, and I wasn't working the day Ian was shot, either.

I've become well acquainted with the local hairdresser, and have actually spent time with her outside the salon. She invites me to go clubbing in Barton and on the outskirts of Durem with her friends on occasion, and I always go when I can. I've met her dates, and turned down her offers to 'hook me up,' but we still have fun, and if I find I'm being a third wheel I just spin off and do my own thing. It's not formal, and it's not close, but it's the most active social association I have at the moment.

It's a good life, and despite what I just said a moment ago it's actually very quiet and simple.


	2. Week 1: Tuesday: A Mundane Day

A **MONTH** in the **LIFE** of **GRAY**

**WEEK** 1: **TUESDAY**: A Mundane Day

It had been three weeks since her last visit. Gray walked in to the salon for her appointment with Durem's resident cosmetologist for a touch-up. Despite it being the middle of the weekday Salon Durem was as busy as always, maybe more so. Gray was waved over to the lead chair by a very harassed looking Vanessa. Vanessa threw a black cover around Gray even before she had sat down.

"It's been insane lately. I thought that with all this vampire business people wouldn't worry so damn much about their hair."

"Have you considered the belief that vampires really do stay the same forever and that these people want to make sure they look their best for the next several centuries?" Gray offered in a voice meant to calm.

"You think these whack-jobs want to get whacked?" Vanessa groaned, very loudly. "If that's the case I'd be more than happy to whack them myself."

Vanessa removed all the little clips and bands from Gray's head, fingered her hair straight, and asked "So what do you want me to do this week?"

"Fix the roots, give me trim, and keep the style," Gray answered. Vanessa called over an assistant to take Gray and wash and dry her hair, and Vanessa then dyed the browning roots the same shockingly red colour as the rest of her hair and neatly trimmed the hair back into shape.

"So, I hear that you cleaned up the old Miller Strand? Any nasty ghosties get stirred up?"

"Oh, no, it wasn't anything that bad. There was a non-human presence that had apparently been attached to the place for some time, and it had been dormant until the renovations started. It was a bit sad, actually; the old woman thought it was her husband's ghost, and that he was mad because she had allowed him to be taken off life support. She blamed herself for the whole thing and was ready to live with it as a sort of penance—it was her daughter that asked me to help."

"Old lady Miller has been coming in here for years. She felt guilty when he had his heart-attack—she blamed herself for letting him eat bacon and drink beer. It's why I never gossip about her or her dye-job."

"I think I remember her mentioning something about his diet when I first arrived."

"So, the place is all hunky-dory now, huh?"

"Yes, though I still don't think she'll stay there. It scared her to think that a negative presence could get that close to her-could get itself lodged in her life and make her think she deserved it. I think she's going to live with her daughter for a while."

"Well, your done. You ought to let me play with it more, though. I'd love to see what you'd look like with some extensions…"

"I think the fire-truck red is bold enough for me, and I rather like my hair on the short side."

"Fine. Everyone has their preferences," Vanessa said, straightening the part in her own hair so that the colours divided perfectly.

"Well, see you in three."

"Ciao, bellissima," Gray returned over her brushed off shoulder as she walked toward the front to pay for her service. It was a pretty mundane day.


	3. Week 2: Saturday: How Kind of You

A **MONTH** in the **LIFE** of **GRAY**

**WEEK** 2: **SATURDAY**: How Kind of You

"Oh just take the tickets already!"

"I don't do this for payment, sir, and I can't in good conscience take them."

"This isn't payment—it's a 'thank you, have a nice day' gift."

"I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but I just can't accept them."

"Look, my son and I obviously aren't going to be able to go tonight, and it would look bad to have empty seats. You'd actually be doing me a favor if you a friend of yours sat in 'em. Do it as a favor."

Gray looked tentatively down at her latest client's outstretched hand. Clasped between his thumb and finger were two box seats to the play that opened a few days ago. She hadn't heard much about it since she wasn't that involved with the fine arts scene, but she knew she would enjoy seeing a free play in primo seats. Besides, when was she ever going to get a chance to have box seats again? Who knew how much those things must cost. And—despite the fact that she didn't involve herself much in the fine arts scene—she did know it would look bad to have empty seats, especially high profile seats. She kept herself from going back in her mind to a pitifully empty football stadium in Atlanta…

"Well, I could do with a night off."

"That's the spirit! And like I said, you'd be doin' me a favor."

Gray walked north to Barton to take the bus home, so she'd have enough time to get ready before she buzzed off to the theatre. She liked the way that sounded. It made her feel glamorous, despite the fact the she was currently employing public transportation and wearing dirtied clothes from a rather difficult cleansing. The poor guy's house was torn apart. He had said that he started having bad dreams about things that would go wrong with the show. He was one of the producers, and apparently there had been a rough patch a while back with licensing and he wasn't sure if the show would actually go on. When the nightmares started he just assumed it was stress. However, when they started to be less about the show and more about being chased, tortured, cut open, and burned alive, and when his son started complaining of similar dreams, and they both started getting injuries in their sleep, the dutiful father called the church for help, and the church called Gray.

She cleared it up, alright, but the house was a wreck. The previous tenants seemed to have been involved with some undesirable 'religious' practices, and it left the house open to all kinds of undesirable presences. There were inconspicuously painted spells and symbols all over the place that had to be removed and destroyed, and the whole house had to be cleansed.

So, yeah, she was a little dirty, and pretty tired, and she was riding the bus back to Durem—but she _felt_ glamorous, and, really, that's what counts.

She only had a few hours before the play, which gave her about two hours to get ready for it. She washed her hair, tended to some other hair, ironed her stand-by little black dress, fixed her make-up, put the dress on, fixed her hair, threw a nice coat in the dryer for a bit to freshen it up, tied the ridiculously tall but absolutely fabulous pumps to her feet, put on the coat, and ran out the door.

It was a rush job, but eyeing herself in the mirror on her way out she _felt_ that she looked fantabulous, and, really, that's what counts.

It wasn't until she was almost at the theatre house that she remembered she had _two_ tickets, and absolutely no one in mind to give it to.

She thought on it for a few minutes as the taxi she called plowed on to her destination [did I mention she called a cab? Sorry about that. Moving on…. Should she call Vanessa? No, Vanessa had said before that she wasn't into fancy things like that. She purposefully avoided that big to-do with the New Year's Eve Ball a couple years back because she didn't want to have to "get all fancied up for a bunch of pretentious, spoiled prats." Her friend Moira seemed absolutely unsuited to polite society, and Gray wasn't exactly well acquainted with her anyway. Gray was single, and there really weren't any available men of interest, and it was really too late for anyone to get ready and be there on time anyway, so…

When the taxi pulled in front of the theatre and Gray paid, she decided she just find some random being and give them the ticket. She'd keep hers, of course, but she'd let the other one go to whoever wanted it, and that would be that.

As Gray walked in the main lobby she was surprised for a minute how lovely it was—high ceilings, mirrored chandeliers, rich velvet curtains draped over tall windows. Yep. Just like a cheesy Disney scene or a clichéd ballroom from any other generic film, just with a giant staircase in the center leading to the performance hall. And while she didn't have what appeared to be the most expensive dress in the room she _felt_ [while looking at another women that seemed to have killed about nine peacocks to make her dress that she looked pretty damn good for a little ol' southern girl, and, really, that's what counts.

Looking ahead she saw a figure moving toward the stair case. HA! Someone she recognized. It was true that she wasn't well acquainted with Vanessa's pseudo-boyfriend anymore than she was with Moira, but at least he was here, and he was definitely well-suited to polite society. Plus, he looked darn good in a tux, and even if he's off the market he still makes a nice bit of eye candy. She decided to try her luck in convincing him to take the vacant seat next to hers.

"Edmund!"

He turned instantly at the sound of his own name. _"That man has some fine hearing to catch that over this din."_

"Edmund! Oi!" Gray shouted a little less loudly now that she had his attention. He left his place by the stairs and walked over to her as she did toward him. He _really_ looked good in a tux.

"Hello Ms. Gray. How are you?"

"Wonderful, and yourself?"

"Fine."

"Ah, short answers always mean 'get to the point'. I was given two box seats earlier today. It was a last minute sort of thing, and so I haven't had much time to get myself cleaned up for the thing, much less to find an occupant for the other seat. I'm not sure what you have planned, but I saw you and thought I'd offer," Gray put forward. She didn't feel like pestering the man, but she would like to have some familiar company for a change. She'd never admit it but she rather liked the man. Respected may be a more appropriate word-after all, he's taken, and Gray would never make a move on a taken man, especially when he's been taken by someone that does her hair.

"I appreciate the offer, Ms. Gray,"

"Oh, there's no need in calling me 'Ms. Gray'. If you want to be formal then call me 'ma'am', otherwise just stick to 'Gray'."

"Of course, Gray. As I said, I appreciate the offer. However,"

"However, he has other plans," said a voice from behind Gray's back. Vanessa slinked around her and laced herself along Edmund's side, draping her arms around his shoulders.

"What on earth have you done to your hair? You really should have let me take care of that, dear, it looks fried to a crisp," Vanessa cooed as she eyed Gray up and down.

"Oh, this? Yes, well, it was all very last minute. In fact, I didn't even know I was coming until this afternoon."

"Still, though, you'd have done better to just let it down. It looks like you drowned in hair spray. And your roots stand out. Have you been eating more than usual? Your roots are so long, it looks like you've had a lot of extra protein.

"You're dress looks nice though. Pretty brave wearing something that short, though. I wouldn't have the guts. And barelegged, too! Aren't you cold, dear?"

"Heavens no, I'm a very warm-natured person," Gray threw out as quickly as she could. She knew what was going on. Vanessa wasn't trying that hard to veil her criticism, and she had never been so overtly rude to Gray before. This was territorial. Vanessa was marking her territory, and doing so plainly. Winding her arms around Edmund's neck and shoulders, slinking and melding into his back, doing a hairdresser's equivalent to spitting venom—this was a defensive move. Gray knew well enough what her own next move should be.

"Not all of us can look as good as you do naturally, Vanessa. The rest of us need hours, days, to get anywhere near presentable, and unfortunately I just didn't have the time.

"Can you tell the dress is old? I haven't worn it in years, I think I may a bit too big for it, but I just didn't have anything else in the closet."

Self-deprecating was the best way to go. True, that spiteful nature of hers really boiled at letting those little slights go, at playing along with them, and at baring nails and slightly more virulent language. She wanted to call her a tramp and a fat ass. It'd be easy—her boobs were two centimeters from indecent exposure and the slit in her gown did show off the bottom of her bottom… No, those were just mean-natured, adolescent retorts; they really weren't going to help diffuse the situation, and Gray knew well enough from experience that getting in a pissing contest was not going to do any good in the long run, even if she really wanted to just slap her ass silly.

"Well, it really is more of a _classic_ look, isn't it?"

Vanessa took the bait. It's hard to get into a disagreement when both parties agree. She looked pleased that she had put up a fence and that there were no more perceived threats, and so she slid back into her skin and stopped her tongue from going further into rude country. Edmund just stood there, apparently not interested in taking a side, and relieved when he found there wasn't one to take.

"Well it's almost show time. I'll stop pestering you both and let you take your seats."

Gray smiled. She had managed to keep her smile the entire time. Later, when she had more time to reflect on this, she would be proud of herself for not crying. She was such a pathetic crybaby, and always at the most inopportune moments at that.

Edmund nodded in her direction, and Vanessa said good night and allowed Edmund to steer her away. Gray watched them ascend the stairs, give the usher their tickets, and walk around the corner and out of sight. Just before they were gone, though, Gray thought she could see Edmund saying something to Vanessa. He looked angry, and she looked sad. Gray knew it was none of her damn business, and not in the mood to stay in that spot any longer she gave her spare ticket to another usher floating through the lobby and asked him to find it an owner while she would sit by herself.

The box had two rows with four seats each, and for some idiotic reason the ticket failed to specify which one was hers. Gray sat in the back row, furthest from the stage. She knew she wasn't really going to be that focused on the play, anyway. She was tired, uncomfortable in the dress she now realized was, actually, a bit short, and she felt rather puny. And, really, that's what counts.

She didn't pay too much attention to the other occupants that filed in and sat around her, nor did she pay that much attention to the play. She realized very quickly, though, that it was a musical. She hated musicals. But, still, she did her best to keep her eyes on the stage and to keep a smile on her face. It wasn't the play's fault that she was in a foul mood. All this business made her remember something that she had tried not to think about for a while: she was alone. She had lived in Durem for three years, and while she had a list of casual and business acquaintances, she had no friends. Of course, how was it any different than any other city she'd lived in? Except for one exception, she had been friendless throughout her school life. Yes, she had people that she could speak to while in class, on campus, but there were no friends knocking on her door at home or calling her phone. She was alone. Still.

"_How kind of you to think of me _

_When I was out of sorts _

_It really meant a lot to be _

"_In someone else's thoughts _

_Someone else's mind _

_Someone else as kind as you_

"_I thought that I was lost _

_I thought I'd never find _

_A someone quite as kind as you_

"_I thought my faith had gone _

_I thought there couldn't be _

_Someone who was there for me"_

"_They had to sing something happy, didn't they?" _she thought as that first damned drop slipped past her lashes' barrier.

She pretended she hadn't noticed it—no one would notice unless she made a motion to indicate it was there. _"No one is watching you. No one is paying attention to you in a dark room when there's a show going on in front,"_ she told herself in her head. More were slipping out and down her cheeks. She wasn't even so upset at the effect of the song as she now was at the fact that she was crying. For some reason crying in public was more upsetting to her than anything else.

Little bits of light reflected off the beads, grabbing more of her attention. It was starting to make her face itch and burn, too. It was all in her head—the fact that she wouldn't allow herself to wipe them away made them seem painful.

The little flecks of light were not brilliant enough to shine across the hall or in any way compete with the stage lights and brilliance from the front of room, but if someone were already looking in the direction they were coming from they would just be bright enough to notice. Just barely.

Gray was very relieved to find that that had been the last number of the evening, and in the commotion the audience made as it collectively stirred and stood Gray felt that her individual movements would be camouflaged long enough so that she could wipe her face and prevent anyone from seeing her state in the full light. She did so as quickly as she could and clapped loudly to blend in with the rest of the mass.

She allowed the rest of the box to vacate ahead of her while she pretended to collect her things and check her cell phone. Gray just did not want to fight with the bulk of the audience, all exiting in one rush. Being a face in a crowd just seemed so stifling at the moment.

She waited in the performance hall for a few minutes, pretending to text someone on her phone, keeping her mind and eyes absorbed in the farce. When the room was sufficiently quiet she put the phone away and left. She went into the first bathroom she found in the lobby. She really wanted to check that her mascara had not run down her face as well. The bathroom was almost empty, and it made Gray wonder how long she had actually just sat in that theatre alone.

Not allowing herself to dwell on it for too long she assumed a place in front of one the mirrors and found to her relief that she did not have black streaks running down her face, although her blush seemed smudged and it was time to reapply some rogue anyway. It wasn't long after she had opened up the contents of her purse that she noticed a familiar face coming out of the stall behind her.

"Oh good, I was hoping to see you before you left," Vanessa said without making eye contact. Gray couldn't tell if the avoidance was intentional or not.

"Were you? I was just about to leave, actually."

Vanessa planted herself at the sink next to Gray and washed her hands.

"I wanted to apologize for earlier. I was being a bitch."

"It's fine. I've dealt with worse things than a few cracks at my epidermis."

"No, it's not fine. I had no right to go at you.

"It wasn't personal, though. I just saw some woman talking to my date and the asshole in me just had to come out."

Gray chuckled a bit to herself, trying to keep a straight face while she put on more useless lipstick. She wondered to herself why she was bothering—it wasn't like there was anyone waiting on her to look pretty for.

"Apology accepted, Vanessa."

Vanessa dried her hands and looked at her reflection, and then scrambled through her small clutch for what cosmetics she had been able to squeeze in there.

"I wanted to ask something, Gray. You and Edmund seem real chummy lately—are you two getting along?"

Gray began putting her things back into her purse. She was a bit taken aback by that question. It seemed so incredulous—so preposterous—silly, even. She and Edmund barely knew each other. They had only met on two other occasions prior to tonight.

"Well we're not best friends, but we're certainly cordial,"

"I mean do you like him?"

She was still on that? Gray thought she made it clear earlier that she wasn't going after the man. Of course, there are things that just need to be said directly and not hinted at in jokes at oneself.

"I won't lie to you—he is handsome. But I hardly know the guy, Vanessa, and I have more class than to go after a man that's already taken."

"So you do like him, then?" she asked, fingering her hair, not making eye contact. Gray could tell she was avoiding it purposefully this time.

"Not like that. I said I wasn't blind, Vanessa, I didn't say I was interested."

Vanessa frowned at her own reflection, playing with her hair more, letting a small groan escape her lips.

"Would you prefer I lie about something that's obvious—that you have an attractive beau? I'm trying to honest with you. I conceded an embarrassing truth and offered a sincere truth: I'm not interested in your man."

"Glad to hear it, hun. I didn't really think you were, I just thought I'd ask."

Gray forced herself not to roll her eyes. _"Surely,"_ she thought to herself, _"you've said something just as dumb before."_

"There was one more thing I wanted to tell you before you left."

"Yes, Vanessa?" Gray said in an obviously irritated tone that she had not intended to use.

"You look lovely tonight, and your hair does not look as though you drowned in hair spray.

"You look very pretty tonight, Gray."

She hadn't expected that. It was sweet, even if it wasn't sincere. Gray couldn't tell whether the cosmo girl had meant it or not, but it still meant something that she said it at all.

"Thank you, Vanessa.

"By the way, your boobs look great in that dress."

"It's the only reason I wear the damn thing. It's so uncomfortable—I haven't been able to breath since six-o-clock!"

There was a brief shared laugh. An exchange of compliments on appearance—the female's currency—signalled an end to whatever dispute there had just been. Vanessa crammed her things back into the tiny clutch as Gray did the same.

"Well, I guess I better get a move on—Edmund's waiting."

"You two have a good night."

"You too. See you Tuesday?"

"Absolutely."

"See ya, then."

"Ciao, bellisima."

Vanessa's slight form slinked out of the bathroom, the tail of her dress just barely making it out of the doorway before it closed. Gray looked around and realized the bathroom was empty, and she wondered again how long she had lingered after the show had ended.

Still, she stood were she was for a few minutes, determined not to see either familiar face again that night. Not being a face in the crowd seemed so stifling at the moment.

After about five minutes had passed, she left the bathroom, eyeing herself in the full-length mirror before she left. She thought the image looked pretty enough, but she felt rather hollow, and, really, that's what counts.


	4. Week 3: Wednesday: Deus Ex Machina

A **MONTH** in the **LIFE** of **GRAY**

**WEEK** 3: **WEDNESDAY**: Deus Ex Machina

It was an exceptionally sunny and warm day. It wasn't hot, and the slight breeze was not enough to make a gal shiver. It was just a lovely day, and it was perfectly conducive to create the kind of attitude needed for her late morning assignment. The church had asked her to perform a blessing on a newly constructed home in the Villages. It was simple, elegant, and the new occupants were bright and cheery and very openly grateful for her assistance.

It didn't take long to complete, and, after a complementary lunch with the owner, Gray walked home from Barton South. She had been tempted to have a cab come to take her home, but it had been so long since she had just enjoyed a nice walk through mostly undisturbed nature. Gray opted to go east, around Barton Town, and walk the trails home to Durem.

The warm sun heated her clothes. It made her feel so comfortable, and so calm, and so at peace. She would never disclose anything so silly, but it made her feel like she was being held. She contemplated turning her back to the sun, just for a little while, so she could close her eyes and pretend that there was someone behind her, holding her.

Ahh, but that was silly, and pretty pathetic when she thought about it. Besides, just because she didn't see anyone on the trail around her did not mean that there weren't others around. She had always been too worried about other people watching her.

It didn't seem to take very long before she passed the reclamation hub and began approaching the west entry point of Durem.

From her standpoint on the trail, she could see the southern bit of wall around her hometown. There was something bright, and almost glittering, around the Durem South Tower that attracted her eye, and, thinking for a brief moment that it was someone that she knew it absolutely could not have been, she decided to go and see if it was.

She entered Durem, presented her identification, made some informal small talk with the guards she had known for years anyway yet still demanded that she prove herself with picture IDs. They seemed bored, openly yawning as she returned her belongings to her wallet. They seemed so at ease-there must not be anything around to worry about. Gray decided that if the guardsmen at the entry point had not noticed anything bright and shiny, she certainly wasn't going to admit to seeing things until she had confirmed that there was anything at all. She would regret that later.

She walked left and wound her way through the street vendors until she finally passed through the commercial way and found herself walking alongside the wall toward the large tower. She walked through the narrow way between the corner of the wall and the corner of the tower, and found on the other side something bright and gleaming gold.

She was, for a moment, sure that it was him. Everything little piece of her was sure she was staring at blonde hair, skin that glowed with happiness, and a face smiling so broadly that the wearer's eyes seemed squinted because of it.

"Lucas?"

Zhivago turned around, looking at this thing that had been allowed to slip passed his attention so far. If it had not acknowledged him, he would not have acknowledged it.

But it had, and so it had to be dealt with. He walked toward the little intrusion, and Gray with a sudden crash of reality realized that it could not have possibly been who she thought. She braced herself for what she knew her brief, shining moment of surreal thoughtlessness had just brought her.

It came faster than she expected. She had never had to deal with any _physical_ non-human that was as fast as him.

Three blows to her abdomen, one to her right knee. She was down in an instant. It hurt more to think about who he turned out not to be than who he did.

"You're not Lucas."

There was another blow, this time to her face. She had barely spit out the blood from where she bit her own cheek than he had grabbed her by the hair and dragged her up from her crouching position.

"No. I'm not."

He dug a nail into her neck, slowly, letting it break the skin and underlying tissue one layer at a time. Gray reached up on instinct to try to remove the foreign thing from her skin. He removed his hand from her neck and slashed all five nails down her back, swiftly and more deeply this time. It felt like he had sliced some of her muscles, too. Now the tears started welling in her eyes.

"_Dammit,"_ she thought. _"Why am I crying now?"_

Her arms lowered, tensing at her side, he resumed his place at her neck, digging a little more deeply. Blood dripped down her arms, eventually little drops formed and fell on and off her fingertips. When he became bored with watching the waning woman, he wrapped his hand around her neck, incidentally cutting off the oxygen to her brain and choking her windpipe. He took a quick sniff of the red liquid dripping out of her neck.

"Not worth it," he said in a heady mumble in her ear in breath that should have been hot as he dropped her to the ground. She fell in a heap, and decided it best to stay there for the moment. She was not entirely encouraged to move, though, since her vision was blurred completely out of focus, and she wasn't sure whether or not he had pierced her carotid artery. She knew that, even if he hadn't cut that most precious vessel, the cuts on her back were still severe, and unless she they were closed soon she may very well bleed to death from the combination of it all. It was instinct that told her that much—her ability to think clearly and coherently seemed to trickle away.

It was hard to force herself back to consciousness. It frustrated her: she had passed out several times, and come close to it many more, and she was always able to force herself to collect—to get it together—to 'unfuzz'. This time, though, the tingly, buzzing feeling was not going away, and her vision was not refocusing, and her hearing still felt muffled. And, this time, she felt cold.

"You eat too much Italian food. I could smell you before you even rounded the corner," Zhivago moaned to her in a very disinterested voice as he walked away. She couldn't follow him-aside from being physically incapacitated, her senses were dulled with pain and from the damage from the assault that was only getting worse. She wouldn't be conscious much longer—she realized that now. It was harder to move, to reach, and for some reason talking seemed so much harder than it had been last Tuesday.

So, that was it, then? Bleeding to death behind a watch tower that wasn't even her responsibility for someone she thought she recognized. Because of an apathetic bastard that would just as soon ripe her apart than leave her alone. There was no point in it! It wasn't malicious, it wasn't planned—her life or death had no singular relevance to him.

"_Wow. This really, really sucks."_

It was all she could think. The image of shining blonde hair and a smile was so far removed from this place. Had the sun actually been shining here a minute ago? It seemed so dark to her now—like nightfall, or a sudden cloud that spanned the whole of the sky. The sun was so far away from where she was.

_Woman, You Know You're a Woman,_

_You Got to Be a Woman, I've Got the Feeling of Love_

A tune so thoroughly ingrained as her ringtone and associated with the sound of friendly voices stirred her enough to be annoyed.

"_Who in the world could be calling me now?"_

The thought seemed to come out of nowhere, like the first thought in the morning when someone just wakes up and realizes that he/she was asleep, or that it's the damn blasted alarm making that unholy noise. She looked above her head in the direction of where the sound had come.

"_Above? Oh, right, I'm laying down."_

She reached, very slowly, and wrapped her slippery fingers around the phone that had fallen out her purse when she fell.

The caller ID…it was Edmund.

As she imagined what to say in her head she answered in a voice wrought with habit, but the voice that spoke was very quiet, and very wavering.

"Ciao."

"Gray? Gray, is that you?"

"…

"Edmund? Help me.

"Please, please help me. I'm behind the South Tower. Edmund…it wasn't him.

"…Help me."

Even as she was speaking, the words seemed alien. It seemed like someone else was saying them. It seemed like there were more sounds coming from the machine, but it sounded as though she had something cupped over her ears. She was so far away from that place.


	5. Week 4: Saturday: Regrets and Apologies

A **MONTH** in the **LIFE** of **GRAY**

(A/N: This story was inspired in part by The Prince Herself's ickle fickle "Masochism Tango", and references were made with her permission. Thank you, Prince Haijin, for sharing your crazy and for letting me share mine. Now go read "Masochism Tango" and thank her after.)

**WEEK** 4: **SATURDAY**: Regrets and Apologies and Other Misunderstood Things

_-__KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-_

Gray's eyes cracked open to a warmly lit bedroom. The morning sun had filtered through the curtains and turned the room bright gold. Her sheets were glowing, inviting her to wake up. In fact the room was entirely too bright to allow a person to go back to sleep, but it compensated for that by being a lovely sight to wake up to. Gray loved the morning sun, even if she did hate mornings.

_-__KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-_

That was what had woken her. Gray sat up, a little too quickly as she realized when her back pulled and screamed in protest. She fought through it, pushing herself up on her elbows, then on her palms. She managed to collect herself enough to sit up fully.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and forced herself to stand. It wasn't until recently she realized how much the skin on her back was affected by every little movement. She got to her feet and picked up her robe and wrapped it around herself as she walked toward the door to her apartment. She noticed how golden and bright the whole of her home looked.

_-__KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-_

"I'm coming!" Gray yelled, trying to suppress the yawn that immediately followed. She tied the robe securely around herself and looked down to make sure she looked, erm, presentable. Satisfied, she closed the distance between herself and the door and looked through the peep hole.

It was Edmund.

Gray opened the door to her impromptu visitor, and greeted him.

"Good morning, Edmund. Is something wrong?"

"No. May I come in?"

He had already begun leaning toward the door, just waiting for approval before he moved his foot across the entryway.

"Um, yes, I can't see why not."

She opened the door wider, extending her arm in a welcoming gesture. He showed himself to her small living room. The eastern part of the apartment was almost all window. It shone perfectly with the bright sun that now reflected and refracted off and through the glass, giving the curtains a translucent orange glow. The sitting room comprised itself of one white sofa that had come with the apartment, a black chair that sat opposite it, and a bookcase that occupied the space left of the chair.

Edmund briskly showed himself to a spot in front of the window. Gray, a little too bewildered and entirely too unawake to try to guess why he was there just sat down in the black chair and waited a moment for him to speak. He did not, but rather continued to look out the window silently.

So, she decided to just be direct.

"Edmund, I'm not complaining, but why are you here?"

He didn't answer at first. She looked at the clock on the opposite wall and noticed that it wasn't yet 8 a.m. She looked at him, trying to discern from his tense body language what was bothering him. He was dressed immaculately, as always. However, the thought came upon her that underneath that inexplicable coat of his might lay a wrinkled, starchless shirt.

He shifted his weight a bit, and for a moment it looked as though he was going to turn his head in her direction. He didn't, but he seemed to understand that the silence had gone on long enough.

"I wanted to apologize to you."

Well she really wasn't expecting that.

"Edmund, you'll have to help me here, because I'm trying to think of some offence you've committed against me, and I'm drawing a blank.

"Mind filling it in?"

He paused again, and it seemed that he was either shocked that she didn't know what he had done or that he regretted saying anything at all—she wasn't sure which it was.

She really wasn't a morning person.

"I wanted to apologize for what happened to you, Gray. I should have killed that thing years ago, but I didn't. I wanted to apologize for putting you in danger like that."

He had turned his head to his left, briefly, so that his voice wouldn't be absorbed by glass and sunlight, but he resumed his forward stance just a moment after he finished speaking. In that moment, Gray noticed, he seemed very tired.

"Edmund…Edmund you had no part in that. As I recall, it wasn't you that was,"

"It's my fault that he was able to do it," he interrupted. His voice had gone from consoling and hesitant to sharp and angry very quickly.

Even at this hour of the day, Gray could recognize now what had brought him here. She had assumed the role of counsellor before, and it looked like she would be today, too.

"Alright Edmund, it's obvious that there's more you came here to say than that, so I'll just sit here and let you say whatever it is you were rehearsing in your head before you arrived.

"Whenever you're ready."

Edmund turned and looked at her directly this time. He seemed to fully regret having come now. He frowned slightly, although it looked more like a scour than anything else, and looked back out the window at the ever-brighter Durem. He stood and stared for a while. Gray sat and waited patiently. After all, this was the first houseguest she had had except for church appointments or her landlady.

He straightened himself, apparently gathering up his resolve along with his posture. He took a few deep breaths, still looking outside, now at the city-dwellers moving along the streets below.

"I've been aware of Zhivago's existence for years. Twelve years ago I intercepted him while he was trying to recover one of his master's children, and there have been several contained instances since then. However, five years ago there was a more significant incident in which I could have and should have killed him.

"He was still trying to recover the child then, and he had managed to confront me while I was alone. I wasn't armed, except for a sword that never was used and a portable amount of the predecessor to what I eventually developed into the cure. I managed to talk him out of fighting, and, at length, seemed to have him distracted from anything antagonistic. I tried pacifying him with praises of respect, and I asked him more personal questions that I had wondered about anyway.

"He told me his name—his real name—and that I was the first person in a very long time that had shown any interest in him as a person. He started talking about himself. He seemed to let go of the venom and claws for a moment. I looked at him for a while and I…I thought that without the glaring and the threats he was…

"I thought that he was attractive."

He paused a lot on those last sentiments. Frustration and embarrassment tried to prevent him from saying it aloud. He managed to spit it out, finally, but frustration and embarrassment prevented him from going further into detail. He hadn't noticed it, but he had begun pacing up and down the eastward facing, window-lined wall.

Irritated that he had already shown so much how affected he was, he decided that rather than continue walking meaningless distances he would take the sofa.

He didn't look in her direction, but he knew that Gray was still silently staring at him. He wanted to finish it.

"I kissed him. I was close enough to shoot that cartridge right in his heart, but instead I kissed the bastard.

"And he bit me."

It was too much now. He had to stop. Gray recognized well enough that Edmund had just hit a wall and would not continue unless he was encouraged to do so.

"And so you had to use the treatment on yourself?"

"Yes," he spat through gritted teeth. Gray knew the seething tone was not directed at her.

"And so it's your fault that I was attacked _how_?"

He looked at her. How could she be this dense? He had thought that she was smarter than what she was proving herself to be at the moment.

"I let the bastard live. I let him get to me. I let the bastard get in my head. He cried like a dame in a damn cheesy movie from the 40s, and I bought it. I thought he wanted… Dammit, I kissed the son of a bitch."

"'_I thought he wanted…'" _she replayed in her head. _"So that's the heart of it, huh?"_

Gray drew in a deep breath, knowing that this was going to be difficult to explain to someone like the man in front of her. He was the old-fashioned type that didn't understand the kind of language that she was about to use.

"Tell me, Edmund, when he cried like a 'dame in a damn cheesy movie from the 40s,' did you kiss him out of pity, or because you were attracted to a version of him that actually had some sort of emotional content—and answer honestly."

Edmund glared at her. She was tripping on his pride and she knew it. He could see no point in that kind of question. It seemed like she was trying to humiliate him further when all he had intended to do was apologize. But he had expected that she would be angry with him—that she would be furious that he had let escape a chance to end that beast permanently before he ever had a chance to lay his claws on her little body. If this was her way of getting even with his negligence then he would allow it. He deserved it, after all.

"I was attracted to him."

Gray didn't smile and didn't frown. She was grateful that he had answered, and that he had answered honestly. That first concession was critical—it meant that she would actually be able to get through this.

"And if he hadn't bitten you, would you still feel this angry?"

He didn't seem to understand the question. Of course he would be upset that he had let live the thing that had killed so many since, that had nearly killed her.

"Nothing that's said here will be repeated outside this room," Gray assured him, "so please just humour me: if he hadn't been toying with you—if he hadn't turned out to be the bastard he really is—would you regret it then?"

"I don't want the thing, and this is absurd, Gray. The thing cut you open and left you to bleed to death. The damn thing nearly killed you. You almost died because of that monster, Gray! It almost killed you! What the hell does a fucking hypothetical have to do,"

"Edmund, I listened to what you have to say, now I'll ask that you listen to me."

He glared at her, but stayed silent. She knew that she didn't have long before his pride demanded that he leave.

"Edmund, people like us will always be disadvantaged. We trust. We care. We're kind, compassionate, and we give others chances. We will always be disadvantaged because no matter how good or kindly we are there will always be people like him.

"You saw him, for just a moment, as something with humanity in it. You saw a person that was trying to reach out for some compassion. You showed him compassion. You even showed him affection.

"Frankly, Edmund, I'd be pissed if you had come in here to brag to me that you hadn't given him the chance to deceive you—that you had seen through his ruse and chopped off his head as soon as he was distracted by trying to distract you."

He looked at her for a moment. It didn't seem possible that she truly had such a different view of the events he had just laid out before her. It was simple: he had been duped, and Zhivago was still alive because of that failure. It was so simple in his mind.

"Edmund, you're a good man, and you took a chance. That's not a bad thing. If that chance hadn't ended with you bleeding, do you think you would regret what happened, or would you be glad that you had tried?

"I'm sure you do feel guilty for the way things turned out, but you must understand that you did absolutely nothing wrong. You put yourself on the line. You took a chance on someone that you thought was being sincere with you. The truth is, Edmund, that you're not nearly as angry that you let him deceived you as you are upset—as you are sad. He hurt your feelings, Edmund. You're upset that he hurt your feelings."

He looked at her rather like an animal a few feet away from speeding tires and headlights looks at its future. It didn't seem as though she had understood what he had come to say to her at all, but she did seem to have understood what he was saying. She was smiling at him now. She sat there, arms at her side, legs crossed at the ankles, barefooted. There was no make-up, no paint, no decorations at all. She was just being her honest self.

She was beautiful like that. A real lady.

He couldn't look at her—it was too embarrassing. He admitted things to her he had never spoken of before, and he had cursed in front of a lady. He looked again out the window. From the sofa he could no longer see what was going on in the streets below.

The room was no longer gold. The sun had risen far enough in the sky that the world around them was filled with an even brighter white light. Morning was in full swing now. There was little excuse for sleeping past this point of day when all the rest of the world was awake and moving. It took a while for Edmund to let sink in what all she had just dropped in his lap.

She waited to see if there was anything further he had to say, but when she realized he was just too embarrassed to go into any further details she made her own move.

She stood up slowly, remembering the lesson she had learned earlier that morning, and walked across the room. Her movements grabbed his attention. She kneeled in front of him and place her hands on either side of his temple. She cupped his head with gentle pressure and pulled it toward her, leaned forward, and kissed his forehead.

"Edmund, you'll always be at a disadvantage because you're a good man, but that doesn't mean that you should stop or feel guilty when the chances you take don't pay off.

"And I want you to understand the difference between anger and hurt. You're angry that he hurt me, but you're upset that he hurt your feelings. You need to understand the difference in anger and regret. It may seem like a small difference, but it's a very important one."

How could it be such a simple thing as that? How could such a grand mistake not be a mistake? Obviously the two beings had very different thought processes: she thought in terms of heart and feeling and kindness, and he thought in terms of results. Could it just be youthful idealism, or normal human compassion, or normal sympathy, and was he so cut off from that rationale in his age and experience?

"_No. This is a friendly gesture. This is her trying to make an old man feel better."_

"You are not responsible for him. There's nothing here that you've done wrong, so please, please, don't blame yourself for what happened to me. And besides that, Edmund, I wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for you. You are the last person on this earth that I would ever conceive to blame for what Zhivago did. You saved me, Edmund. You saved my life."

He looked at her face in the brilliant light. There was still a bit of kohl around her eyes, but not nearly the usual amount that veiled her real appearance. She wasn't perfect by any means, but, still, kneeling there in a plain white chemise, a rosy, silk robe, with no make-up or pretences,

she was, in an honest way, beautiful.

Her hands fell away from his face and found themselves flushed against the soft white fabric on either side of his legs. She pressed down, pushing herself up. She had forgotten already how much stress that otherwise innocuous motion put on her back. She had just managed to raise herself about six inches off the ground when the fire on her skin and protesting muscles refused to go any further. She hissed and fell a little less gracefully than she would have wanted, damning the fact that she had just done something so stupid in front of someone else.

Edmund stood up, untranced by her sudden drop, and grabbed her arm and waist and gently pulled her up until she was steady on her own feet. His face was closer to hers than normal situations would have permitted. He remembered how feather soft her pink mouth was, and how smooth her naked hands were.

"Sorry about that. I guess I'm not meant to get down on my knees. I'll just have to remember to stay off the floor for a while," she huffed, rubbing her back.

"I'm not making you feel better, am I?" she laughed when she realized how much attention she had just drawn to her injury.

"No, I do feel better. Thank you."

They were both steady on their own respective feet now, standing a more appropriate distance apart. There was an awkward sort of silence.

"Well," Gray broke, "that's about all I'm good for this time of day. I don't usually try to do anything productive until I've had some coffee in me.

"Would you like some?" she asked as she started to walk toward the kitchenette.

"Yes, please."

He followed her into the kitchen area, and she motioned for him to sit at a small table situated in front of the east facing, windowed wall. She poured the dark grains into a white coffee maker on the counter and poured in water. He watched her little fingers silently as they wrapped around and released a tin of coffee, and spoon, a pitcher, and coffee mugs. He realized that he hadn't seen here hands without gloves on before.

"How do you take yours? Cream? Sugar?" she made eye contact with him as she opened the refrigerator and wrapped her fingers again around a small carton of cream. She was smiling. She was always smiling that artificially formed smile.

"Cream, please."

She retrieved the full pot of black-brown liquid and poured it into the cups she'd placed beside the coffee maker, she poured the white, thick cream into each, and then she laced her fingers through the looped handles and carried both to the small table.

The kitchen area and the sitting room were separated by an incomplete wall that seemed only to exist so that the sink and oven and cabinetry would have a back. The wall didn't extend fully to the east wall which the sun was now rising above. The other wall seemed to be the partition between the living areas and her bedroom, and the wall the extended of the recessed doorway seemed likely to have the bathroom on the other side. It wasn't exactly a small apartment, but it was far more cramped than the amount of space to which he was accustomed.

The sunlight stretched long across the floor, but was high enough over their story that it just barely illuminated their faces.

Gray was looking out the window, cupping the hot porcelain with both hands, holding the liquid under her face so she could smell the contents better. She took slow sips, never moving fast in doing anything, and always with a smile that seemed permanently fixed.

He wondered for a moment why there wasn't some lover sharing this apartment with her. She was lovely, even without the supposed hours she needed to make herself look presentable, and she… Was it normal human compassion, normal sympathy, or was she truly that easy?

"Have any plans today?" she asked, looking at him with heavy lidded eyes.

"No. The shop is closed today."

Blunt answers don't really help move along conversation. He could have mentioned the things he had planned to do, or asked her about her schedule. It was always easy to think of something to say to this woman, but he never thought any of it was appropriate or necessary.

There was a ringing in his pocket that arrested both of their attentions. Edmund placed his cup on the table and fished through his pocket to retrieve the noisy contraption. It was Vanessa.

"Excuse me, please."

"Of course," she replied. She watched him answer the phone and listened to what was said since the caffeine had not affected her enough for her to remember it wasn't polite to stare or eavesdrop.

"Hello.

"I don't have any plans for dinner.

"Not until evening.

"I don't like Indian food."

The dialogue went on in that fashion for a couple of minutes, but they seemed very long minutes to Edmund. It was, at least, long enough for the last rays of direct sunlight to leave the room. He was listening, but he wasn't really paying attention to what was being said. He thought about Vanessa's lips being near the receiving end of her phone, full, pink, and pouting because he wasn't giving in to her wants. He thought about how Gray was shyer with a less ample gift than what the woman whose bed he shared had. Edmund thought about blue eyes and more tan skin than what was sitting before him. He thought about a willing and ready partner, and how that was so much easier than pursuing someone with too many virtues. Was that why she was alone?

It was like breaking some odd spell. He realized how much attention he had been paying to the plain woman opposite him, and how he already had something to keep him company and warm his bed.

"I'll see you later, then.

"Why do I need to come over now?

"Fine, I'll be there soon.

"Good-bye."

Edmund closed the phone a bit more dramatically than he should have, trying to emphasize, inconspicuously, the fact that he was leaving to see another woman—a woman with whom Gray knew he was involved. He would feel somewhat guilty about that later—about making a show of things like that. She hadn't done anything forward, she had not batted her eyes, nor stroked his arm, nor done anything that wasn't anything other than perfectly friendly. It was he that had come to see her, it was he that had made the meeting personal and private, and she had done nothing but her best to be perfectly friendly and kind.

Still, she was plain, and Vanessa was waiting.

"So, do you have plans now?"

"Apparently I'm having a late dinner and an early lunch."

"You and Vanessa?

"Sorry, I recognized the voice, and I just assumed that's who you were talking to anyway."

"Yes."

He quickly drained the rest of contents of the cup in front of him, returning the phone to his pocket.

Gray smiled a little more broadly, resting her cup down on the table with his.

"She really seems to like you.

If you don't mind my asking, are you two starting to get a bit more serious?"

Edmund silently disagreed. Vanessa was using him as much as he was using her. It was casual. It wasn't serious, or productive, or anything more than convenient. It was obvious that Vanessa had been talking about their relationship to the parlour girls. That was good, though. He wanted to make sure Gray didn't misconstrue his early morning visit for anything untoward.

"Maybe," he lied. It sounded better than admitting the truth to the church girl.

"I'd better be leaving, then."

He stood, replacing his chair to the table, and Gray did the same albeit more slowly. He motioned to help her but she waved his hands away.

"It's fine. I can stand up on my own—it's just that sitting on my knees is a little more trouble than I can handle for the time being. I'll just have to remember to stay off the floor for a while."

Edmund began moving toward the doorway when he saw that she was standing fine on her own. She followed suit, and after he opened the door she held it for him. He couldn't tell anymore if her smile was forced from habit or truly sincere. The sunlight reflected on the floor and made it look as though she was walking on a street paved with gold, or had some sort of brilliant, golden aura around her.

"_She really is pretty__, and virtuous beyond pursuit."_

He stood for a moment on the other side of the threshold to say his goodbyes.

"I'm sorry for intruding so early in the morning."

"Don't be—it's nice to have visitors, even impromptu ones."

He paused for a moment, wanting to say something kinder than just the generic 'have a nice day'. She had just listened to him rave for the better part of an hour, in a time period before she had intended to wake up. He probably wouldn't have even answered the door.

"Thank you, Gray."

"Your welcome, Edmund, any time."

It was a sincere smile. He could tell. He gave a small nod, as per custom, and walked on down the hall, leaving for another woman's home. Gray slowly closed the door behind him.

She stood there at the door, one hand still wrapped around the knob. She listened to a steady stride slowly fading outside, to the sound of a stair well door opening and creaking shut, and then she listened to silence. She couldn't break, not until she was sure she was alone.

After some time of quiet had passed Gray turned, pressing her back against the door. She held her half-empty coffee cup to her chest. It was still warm.

And that was all it took. Hot streams fell down her face, falling from her chin, wetting the front of her nightgown and chest. She slid down the door, letting gravity do most of the work. She knew it would be hell trying to get up again, and she didn't give a damn.

She was in love with him.

She was fucking in love with him.

It was so stupid—so pointless! He was taken! And even if he wasn't she would never have pressed her luck for anything more. She would never ask him to deal with any of her. It was too much—too selfish—too irresponsible. But damn, it hurt. It hurt so much.

The glass wasn't warm enough. The coffee was had not gone tepid, but it was still no where near warm enough.

Why was she in love with him? She knew better! She knew better! She knew not to get close, and dammit, hadn't she been damaged bad enough the last time she gotten close to someone? No, the last two times she has become close to someone.

It was hell. It hurt. And she was in love with him.

The small glass started to sag in her hand. She needed to feel warm inside. Gray drained the contents in two gulps. It wasn't enough. It made her angry. It made her so damn angry.

She threw the frail thing across the room, watching it shatter against the far wall. The little pieces glinted in the remaining sunlight that still fell over there.

She was dark. She was cold. She loved him, and it hurt.

Fresh, hot liquid fell across her face, leaving a wet trail behind it that quickly went cold in the still air.


End file.
